


it's not good enough unless it's perfect

by actualcactus



Category: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Other, Panic Attack, Perfectionism, Roman Sanders - Freeform, Sad, Sanders Sides - Freeform, can be read as platonic or romantic, probably lamp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 09:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13972272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualcactus/pseuds/actualcactus
Summary: The wind blew. A paper fluttered noisily. It was loud, too loud. Roman cracked his eyes open, wetting his lips. His chest hurt. He couldn’t breathe. Oh god- he couldn’t breathe. Tears pricked at the corners of Roman’s eyes and he tried to swallow his spit, only to find himself coughing roughly instead. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.





	it's not good enough unless it's perfect

**Author's Note:**

> trigger warning for panic attacks and intrusive, negative thoughts!

Chilly wind blew in through his open window, causing his curtains to shift and papers to flutter a few places away. The room was quiet, accompanied by the sound of leaves rustling in the breeze outside and the occasional voice that became loud enough to make it’s way in through Roman’s door. Roman sat in the middle of a mess of paper and pencils, sketchbooks and notebooks and stray stationary. The papers in front of him had messy scribbles crossing out whole paragraphs of words and eraser marks from thrown away ideas.

 

_“I thought you could do better than this, Roman.”_

 

Roman sat with his head in his hands, fingers digging into his scalp and brown eyes squeezed shut. The wind blew. A paper fluttered noisily. It was loud, too loud. Roman cracked his eyes open, wetting his lips. His chest hurt. He couldn’t breathe. Oh god- he couldn’t breathe. Tears pricked at the corners of Roman’s eyes and he tried to swallow his spit, only to find himself coughing roughly instead. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.

 

_“This is kind of… bland- sorry, Princey, it’s just not interesting.”_

 

Roman let his hands drop from his head, instead gripping at his arms instead and buckled in on himself. The wind blew. The leaves rustled. Too loud. Roman desperately tried to grapple for air. His lungs ached. He couldn’t breathe. The papers shifted with his movement. Roman looked up at the open window, brown eyes blown wide as he numbly watched the curtains flow in the wind. The wind. Roman stumbled to his feet, slipping on discarded drafts of new ideas and drawings of plans for new videos.

 

_“I’m sorry kiddo but I don’t think these will get enough attention. You tried your best though!”_

_He tried his best._

 

The wind blew. It drifted over Roman’s skin and caused goosebumps to rise on the back of his neck. He made his way over to the window shakily, throat closing up and breath coming out in short gasps. Roman lurched forward, slipping on a stray piece of paper, and he landed on the ground with a heavy bang. The voices outside quieted before raising again. Roman couldn’t make out what they were saying. He curled into himself, curling his fingers into his sash. It was grounding. The wind blew. Roman squeezed his eyes shut.

 

_His best wasn’t good enough._

 

Someone was knocking on his door. They were calling his name. Roman’s eyes flew open in a panic. He opened his mouth to call out. To tell whoever it was he was fine. To reassure them with lies. Instead Roman coughed throatily, wincing. Their voices raised. There was more than one voice. He desperately struggled to his feet, chest on fire. He finally sucked in a breath, before coughing again. “I-” He couldn’t finish the sentence. Roman staggered to the bathroom door, shakily opening it with clammy hands before shutting it behind him. He locked the door.

 

_“I thought you were supposed to be the creative side?”_

_“Virgil! Be nice!”_

_“I’m just kidding, he knows that.”_

 

The voices raised on the other side of the door. On the other side of his two doors. Roman made his way to the sink. He leaned heavily onto it. Roman gripped onto the porcelain countertop desperately. He looked up in the mirror. His eyes were red and tears were streaming down his face, which was flushed from exertion. He hadn’t realized he had started crying. Roman wet his lips, swallowing. He coughed again, before biting down on his lower lip to stifle a sob. The voices lowered. His eyes darted around his reflection on the mirror.

 

_He knows that._

 

“Roman!”

 

_He was supposed to know that._

 

He sucked in a deep breath. It didn’t stay. He coughed again, bending over the sink. Everything hurt. The sun that was coming in through the window hurt. The sounds of people moving around on the other side of the wall hurt. The thoughts hurt- God, they hurt _so much_.

“Roman!”

“Roman- are you okay?!”

 

_It’s not good enough unless it’s perfect._

 

The voices got louder on the other side of the door. Roman sunk to the ground. He clutched his head in his hands, eyes wide as he tried to catch his breath. Why couldn’t he breathe? How long has it been? They couldn’t see him like this. He wasn’t supposed to cry. He wasn’t the emotional side. Patton could cry. Patton was allowed to cry. He was just a burden if he cried. He just had to come up with ideas.

 

_It’s not good enough unless-_

 

“Roman?! Where are you?!” Patton.

 

_“You tried your best though!”_

 

Roman slid across the cool tile floor. His back collided with the wall of the shower. They couldn’t see him like this. His breathing was roaring in his ears. They could hear him. He couldn’t breath. He was the creative side.

 

_"I thought you were supposed to be the creative side?”_

 

He could hear footsteps come near the bathroom door. His breathing was so loud.

“Roman? Are you in here?” Logan.

 

_“I thought you could do better than this, Roman.”_

 

Roman pulled on his hair. He tried to hold his breath. They couldn’t know they were in here. They couldn’t. He coughed instead. Harsh. Loud. The tile floor was cold beneath his feet. He couldn’t breathe.

“Roman?! Oh my fucking god- Roman!” Virgil. It was Virgil.

Someone shook the doorknob. Panic clouded his thoughts.

 

_It’s not good enough unless it’s perfect._

 

“Is the door locked?”

“Yes- Roman!”

He couldn’t breathe.

“Roman can you unlock the door for us kiddo?”

“What if he’s- _dying_ in there?!”

 

_It’s not good enough unless it’s perfect._

 

“Virgil I’m sure he’s-”

He couldn’t breathe.

“Roman?!”

“You unlocked the other door where did that coat hanger go?!”

“Virgil calm down.”

He can’t _breathe_.

The door knob stopped shaking. Roman couldn’t think. He squeezed his eyes shut.

 

_It’s not good enough unless it’s perfect._

 

The door opened.

“Roman- oh my god _Roman!_ ” Patton. It was Patton. His voice was loud. Someone was touching his arm. It was all suffocating. He couldn’t breathe.

“Roman?!” Logan, now it was Logan. Another hand on his arm. On his hand. Trying to pry his hands away from his head. He can’t breathe. This was too much. Too many people.

“Roman?! Roman- oh sh- guys _get away from him_.” It was Virgil. The hands disappeared. Some of the tightness disappeared from his chest. “Roman I need you to look at me.” He didn’t want to. It was bright, and loud, and god- “Roman.”

He cracked open his eyes a little a looked up, not having to look as far as he had thought. Virgil was crouched in front of him, looking a little like his thoughts were scattered, but his voice was low and even. Calm. He was calm. “Breathe with me, okay? In for four-” Roman tried. He tried. But he ended up coughing. He couldn’t breathe. “That’s fine, you’re doing great. Try again okay? In for four-” Roman breathed in. He did it. Air flooded his lungs. Virgil opened his mouth again, to say something else, but Roman couldn’t hold it and he coughed again. “That’s better. Let’s try again. In for four-”

“And out for seven… good job…” Roman let out a shaky breath, his hands loosening their grip on his hair. He wasn’t going to die. He could breathe. He could breathe. “Again.” He could breathe. “Again.” He could breathe. “Are you feeling better?”

Roman blinked, wetting his lips again. His mouth was dry. He finally nodded. He could breathe, even if it was a little shaky. He could breathe. He could breathe.

“Can you point out three things you can see to me?”

“Uhm-” His voice was scratchy. “You, the sink… the tiles.”

“Good. What about four things you can feel?”

“The floor, my hair, my face…” He let one hand drop from his head, weaving his fingers through his sash. “My sash.”

“Good job.” Virgil visibly paused, before looking over to his right. Roman followed his gaze and suddenly felt guilt wash over him. Patton and Logan were standing side by side, Patton’s eyes bright with unshed tears and his face pale. Logan looked more awkward then anything, but concern shined through and he was gripping onto Patton’s hand. “Can- are you okay with being touched?” Virgil was asking for them, Roman assumed.

“I think so…”  

Patton suddenly launched himself at Roman, wrapping his arms around Roman. He carefully recuperated the action, before relaxing and burying his face in Patton’s shoulder. He smelled like clean clothes and flowers. And sugar. It was nice, and relaxing. Roman pulled back after a few moments, though, and Patton gripped at his arm. He opened his mouth to say something, before he found Virgil had crawled over to his other side and was now sitting on the floor beside him. Virgil leaned up against his side, quiet.

Logan stepped around Patton and sat down where Virgil had previously sat, by his legs, and gently placed one hand on his knee. “Do you want to tell us what was… wrong…?”

Roman faltered, looking between the other three. He could tell them. They were open to hear him. Ready to accept him even through all his flaws. They didn’t care. They loved him. They had come for him.

 

_It’s not good enough unless it’s perfect._

 

“Maybe later.”


End file.
